


Replenish

by Nununununu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (canon-based), Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he’d harrumph -Except it wasn't.(In other words, a story in which Petunia slowly comes to take care of and care for Harry).
Relationships: Dudley Dursley & Petunia Evans Dursley, Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 114
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Replenish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosestone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosestone/gifts).



> A treat for Rosestone. Your prompt about Petunia grabbed me and I couldn't stop thinking about how she might get to the point where she might care for Harry and end up giving him a happy childhood. This fic is about that journey - I hope you like it.
> 
> Trigger warning for references to canon child abuse (predominantly neglect). Also includes anti-magic sentiment and grief manifesting as anger.
> 
> (Date adjusted for author reveals; orig posted 10/05).

Her _sister_.

Lily had always had to go and try and ruin Petunia’s life, and now she had found the most effective way of doing it of all – forcing Petunia to acknowledge her by dying. Petunia wanted to find Lily to shake her by the shoulders and scream at her for how _selfish_ she was, and she couldn’t even do that, could she.

Vernon was no help.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he’d harrumph, and then look around for his dinner. Petunia would hurry off to finish it – never let it be said she’d leave her husband wanting for a good hot meal at the end of his hard day of work! – but a little more sympathy for just how _cross_ she was might have been nice. He’d always been so supportive of her and so steadfast in his dislike of all that horrible, disgusting ‘magic’ nonsense – _totally_ unlike her parents, she might add – but it seemed her _dear_ little sister Lily had found a way to set the pair of them at loggerheads as well – she! She and Vernon disagreeing!

Not that he realised they were disagreeing, of course. Petunia was very careful to nod and smile – because he was _right_ , after all, it _was_ good riddance – and say nothing to him about the thought of how her sister dying made all this _anger_ burn inside her, how she just wanted to run down to the end of their garden sometimes and yell and scream and shriek about just how unfair it was.

She never would, of course. The neighbours would be horrified.

So Petunia plastered on a smile and painted it in the lipstick Vernon liked best, and did her hair and put on her apron like the sensible woman she was, and made her dearest little Diddykins a plum pudding for a before dinner snack, and a bread-and-butter pudding for them all to share for after.

She put aside a bit of the crust for That One; she’d toss it in to him when they were finished. A bit of the milk as well, because Dudley wasn’t that keen on it and it wouldn’t do to let it go to waste. Not that the Other Child would probably appreciate it, of course.

Heavens knew her Diddykins never seemed to appreciate it.

Elbow deep in the washing-up water, Petunia blinked hard, shocked at herself. What a terrible unmotherly thought! Goodness, whatever was wrong with her. She had – She had only meant the milk. A smart, growing boy like her Diddykins _would_ benefit from a little milk at his age and she didn’t like to argue with him – she _never_ liked to argue with him; never _did_ argue with him, that was just inconceivable, but –

But – but sometimes, _just this once_ , it would be –

It would be nice if he would concede that, just in this case, Mother knew best. She was simply trying to care for him, that was all. There had been no need for him to throw his cup at her head –

Not that he had been aiming for her head. That would be preposterous, a boy of his age! Her dear little angel would never be so – so –

Sniffing, Petunia resumed doing the dishes. And besides, the beautiful arch the cup had made in the air had showed off wonderfully his good strong arm! He was going to be a regular sportsman he was, when he grew up, her little Dudders. Why she was – she was so proud of him, it brought tears to her eyes, it really did. And clearing up the vase that silly cup had broken had taken no time. She hadn’t even really liked it, after all.

There was a sound from the cupboard. That Other Child was crying –

Was blubbering away like the spoiled little brat he was again. Always wanting this, that and the other; always encroaching on the precious time she could be spending with her family, with her husband and son.

What _did_ he want now? His dinner? Some people just had no patience. He’d eaten his bread for lunch – talk about a bottomless pit! Lily must have just let him eat willy-nilly, with no regard for the time or thought of the child’s health.

Hmph, witches and all that – all _that sort_ – probably didn’t care about things like ‘health’ or ‘good manners’ anyway. If she gave in and gave the Other Child his crust now, he’d only be demanding something else after her family had had their dinner. Ungrateful little brat that he was.

Sighing, Petunia kept on washing the dishes until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Vernon was watching his program – at least the volume was loud enough that those awful howls weren’t bothering him. Diddykins was playing his computer game – that one where he could hit the controller with his dear little fist – and she’d take him his plum pudding when it was cool.

That Other Child kept on caterwauling. She couldn’t –

_She_ _couldn’t_ –

Didn’t he know _she_ was the one who felt like doing that?!

Wiping her hands on her apron, Petunia stalked to the cupboard door, flung it open, prepared to see a red and blotchy, screwed up little snotty face and –

Blinking, That Child looked up at her. There were tear tracks on his face, yes. His eyes –

No, she didn’t want to look at his eyes. But his mouth –

His demanding little mouth was – was doing something entirely unexpected.

“Why would you –” Her hand on the cupboard, ready to slam it shut, Petunia found herself spluttering. Why – why was he _smiling_ at her? “Stop it! You think it’s funny, do you? You think it’s funny I don’t have anything to smile about?”

What was she even saying? All that dreadful anger was boiling up in her and she longed to lash out. But –

That little mouth wobbled, smile starting to vanish –

But – to lash out at a child – even This Child –

“You’re hungry, aren’t you,” Folding her arms, Petunia pursed her lips, “Demanding your din-dins early, are you, you little spoiled –”

“ _Mama_ ,” the child said.

“Oh goodness, what,” Petunia’s hand went up over her mouth. He’d never done that before. She almost –

Shockingly part of her wanted to cry. Lily –

_Had Lily ever heard him talk?_ She had no idea.

“ _I am not your mother_ ,” Her eyes were brimming with furious tears. She hated – _she hated_ –

Her sister –

Not the baby.

He was just a baby, wasn’t he. A bad apple, probably rotten to the core, but –

Petunia went to shut the cupboard door. To shut the door, wipe her face, redo her makeup and put on her smile. Take the plum pudding to Dudley and get her husband a long overdue drink.

“Do you – do you want some water,” she found herself asking the child instead.

“Mama?” he said.

“No, I’m not –” Hissing, Petunia managed to cut off the words just in time. If they carried on like this, her family would overhear and that would be –

Either she had to shut the door or pick the child up. She couldn’t possibly risk letting him clamber all over her neat and tidy house. Picking up her dear Diddykins' toys and doing heaven knows what to them. Destroying them, probably.

She needed to –

She needed to pick up the child.

“A-all right,” Gingerly, Petunia reached into the narrow crib and lifted him up, holding him at arm’s length. She shouldn’t bother talking to him really – he wasn’t anything like as intelligent as her little angel and she doubted he understood. Lilly had probably just talked to him in gobbledygook.

The child went stiff as anything at her touch, face scrunching up as if to –

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Whispering, Petunia placed him on her hip in desperation and hurried to the kitchen to get that drink, “Water and then back into the cupboard with you!”

By the time they reached the kitchen, he had relaxed against her, practically slumping into her hold. His tiny head resting against her shoulder. He was so much lighter than her big strong Dudley, it felt – it felt almost _wrong_ –

“Here,” Fetching the water, Petunia plonked a spoonful of the very corner of the plum pudding into the old bowl she used for him and perched him on the end of her knee at the table, purely so he wouldn’t fall. Her Diddykins never like the corners, did he, and this way she could give the other child his crust after dinner and he’d no doubt eat it, so it wasn’t like she was doing anything else than saving on waste.

The child drank his water and ate his pudding, fumbling clumsily with the spoon.

“I suppose _she_ did everything for you, didn’t she,” Taking it from him, Petunia popped a spoonful into the mouth he opened up. No making faces, no spitting it back out, no smacking his hands against the table or shoving at her –

Her dear little angel did have his opinions! This one was just – just –

Enjoying his pudding. Not letting herself think about it, Petunia gave him his milk there and then, and served him a second helping. She’d give her Dudley a second helping of bread-and-butter pudding after dinner; he’d be absorbed enough in his game that he wouldn’t know.

Part of her felt like an appalling mother for this. Another part of her – the part that felt the lightness of the child on her knee and heard the quiet noises of appreciation he made as he ate –

Another part of her felt – oddly almost pleased. It was – strangely –

Nice. Just to have this moment of quiet to drink her cup of tea and glance at the cooker to check dinner was almost ready, keeping an ear out to check Vernon was still enjoying his program and Dudley his computer game.

She left the cupboard door open an inch when she put the child back after.

“To air out the place,” she told Vernon, who was concentrating on his roast beef anyway, “We don’t want mould.”

Her little angel had hated the plum pudding. There hadn’t been enough time to make him a different one before the dinner was ready – he’d screamed at her for it, which was quite understandable. But still –

But nothing. Petunia gave him extra bread-and-butter pudding plus two Mars Bars as an apology after the roast, and she gave the child a scraping of butter on his crust along with his milk. She stayed to check he ate it safely, just in case of the mess it would make if it spilled, and he smiled up at her again as she held the cup so he could drink.

“I don’t know what you’re smiling about,” she told him, although she wasn’t feeling so angry now.

This became a habit, of sorts. Time passed and her Dudley grew bigger – how proud she was! – and Harry grew bigger, sort of, not as much. Petunia found she didn’t mind having him totter around her ankles in the kitchen while she was cooking, once she’d impressed upon him the danger of the stove. He preferred to stay under the table at first, peeking out at her feet, but eventually he came to play strange games of his own devising near the cupboards, never seeking to open them and investigate – so unlike her Diddykins, who always wanted to know what food there was, her bright investigative little detective! – and it was strangely soothing to have someone to talk to as she worked.

It didn’t harm anyone, after all. And if the child howled less in his cupboard, that was all well and good. She was doing everyone a favour, really.

But then the day came that Dudley came down from his computer game.

He had such a distinctive toddle on the stairs – _thump! thump!_ – her little athlete! He’d always hated the stairgate being closed and had never fallen, and Vernon had told her time and again not to fret. Still Petunia was a mother as well as a wife and couldn’t stop the fear for her little angel – she’d always stop whatever she was doing to check he came down safely whenever he thought to leave his room.

So this time – when she was telling Harry about her grandmother’s crockery while he sat on her knee enjoying his milk and bowl of jam roly-poly, before she took her hungry Dudders up his – the unexpected _thump! thump!_ on the stairs took her off guard.

“Oh! My goodness –” Petunia shot a hasty look at the clock to check she hadn’t lost track of time somehow. Her Dudley did so hate it if his snacks were late! Just like his dear father, always wanting his drinks on the half hour.

Harry had gone rigid against her, in that way he had used to do for quite some time at first. Petunia had found she disliked it, so she always soothed him – it soothed her own ragged nerves.

Not that she had anything she needed to be worried about! It just –

Sometimes she just –

Dudley had thrown his toy blocks at her earlier and screeched loudly enough for Vernon to get involved. He’d drawn blood this time when one hit her forehead as she leant down to console him, which was her own silly fault really – she knew he had a sportsman’s arm! And those wooden blocks were a hazard and beneath his developmental stage anyway – he was far too clever for them. She’d get him another video game, one of those funny ones about squashing animals that he so liked.

She’d let Harry play with the blocks in the kitchen while she finished the roly-poly. He’d stacked them neatly – or tried to – and had laughed when he failed, unlike her Dudley, who’d been born with a true British competitive spirit, always relishing his wins.

Petunia had taken a few minutes to help Harry build his tower while her before dinner cup of tea was brewing and it hadn’t felt like wasting time, not really. Everything else had been on track.

She’d put a plate out to give him some of the spaghetti she was making for everyone. It seemed foolish to keep giving him something different and she’d already be cutting up Dudley’s into little pieces. She’d have to support Harry in eating it, of course, but he did appreciate her cooking and she’d taken to having him eating his meal in the kitchen with her before she did the after dinner dishes – as opposed to the pre-dinner ones – as it gave her a chance to be indulgent and read her book.

It had been many years since she’d enjoyed reading. But Harry was quiet and calm enough the majority of the time that she could pop in a mouthful or help him hold his spoon with one hand, and turn the pages with the other. It was just a little indulgence. She’d join her dear family for their after dinner TV time like always once she’d finished the next lot of dishes, and leave the cupboard door open so Harry could hear.

Sometimes she found herself reading some of her Diddykins’ unwanted books to Harry instead of reading her own. It made sense in a way – her big strong boy was far too active for the written word, while Harry seemed to gobble them up. He was –

It was very strange to think it, but he was like her, in that way. Reading had been something Petunia could escape to as a child, while her parents fussed over and doted on Lily; a means of forgetting how alone she had been. Harry –

Harry wasn’t alone, was he.

Well, he _was_. In the cupboard. Without Lily and That Man. But outside the cupboard, he wasn’t, and that felt somehow important. Somehow – meaningful.

He smiled at her and she found her lips twitching, trying to smile back at him sometimes, and she stroked his little brow.

If she didn’t think about it, she could even – almost – almost! – ignore that nasty scar. It didn’t mean anything in _her_ world, the _real_ world, the _right_ world, after all, did it.

Anyway, her dearest Dudley was doing his adorable _thump! thump!_ down the stairs, screeching for his Mummy fit to burst. Oh her angel!

“Now you sit here and behave yourself,” Petunia checked Harry had nothing he could choke on, propped him in Dudley’s high chair with the latest book they’d been looking at together – just this once! After all she couldn’t risk him accidentally toddling near the stove – and went to check her beautiful boy didn’t hurt himself on the stairs.

Dudley threw the biggest, loudest fit on shoving past her and seeing Harry in his chair.

“Oh, my Diddykins!” It was completely understandable – what a shock! She hadn’t thought at all. She should have put Harry back in his cupboard.

Vernon, from the lounge, was calling encouragement to Dudley. Really, one day perhaps he might make his way up off the sofa to actually do so face to face!

“Oh dear,” Petunia was being petty. Who was she to demand her darling husband wrench himself to his aching feet after his long day? And really, the fact he cared so much for their gorgeous boy to take his attention away from his much loved TV program was really something – he never liked to speak to her during it, which was only fair. He’d miss it then and there was little more annoying than that.

Harry, in the kitchen, was white-faced in Dudley’s chair. Yanking out of her hold, her Diddykins near ran into the room to confront the other toddler – he _ran_! Petunia had never seen him move so fast.

Then he went to pinch Harry’s ankles. Her sturdy chap had quite the grip – he’d gouged the skin on her hand the last time he’d done that, and her arm.

“Dudders!” Petunia cooed in the attempt to gain his attention.

Ignoring her, Dudley roared, his beautiful chubby hands going up to catch Harry’s legs. Dropping his book, Harry tried to wriggle back in the chair.

“Mama!” His expression was entreating, his eyes wide open, fixed on her. _Lily’s_ eyes, but –

But they were afraid.

Harry looked afraid. Afraid of _Dudley_ , her darling boy who would never hurt anyone! Except –

Except he _did_ hurt her. Accidentally of course. And –

And now he was trying to hurt Harry on purpose.

“Dudley, stop that at once!” burst sharply out of Petunia’s mouth as she caught Harry up out of the chair before Dudley’s nails – trimmed but still hard against a baby’s skin – could sink in.

Harry curled into her, trembling. Why had he been so frightened of _Dudley_? Of being –

Trapped somewhere he couldn’t get away from, while someone made loud screeching noises and tried to hurt him –

His little heart was beating ever so fast. Petunia covered his soft head with her hand, encouraging him to tuck his little face against her neck, holding him close. He didn’t – he was only a baby. He didn’t deserve to – to remember or be afraid like that.

Dudley was staring at her, shocked into silence. His face looked puce.

“Now now, my dearest wonderful Diddykins,” He was going to vomit, wasn’t he. When something particularly displeased him, he tended to vomit everywhere. Petunia –

It was just his age. All children did it, even Harry sometimes. But still –

She hated vomit. And she didn’t like Dudley hurting her, if she was honest. Or Harry. She didn’t want Dudley to hurt him either.

There had been enough anger and pain. She’d never truly hated Lily. She’d just hated the fact her sister had died.

And she didn’t hate Lily’s son. Her nephew.

“That’s enough of that,” As such Petunia told her own son, her voice wobbling for a moment before she swallowed, and then it came out firm. Taking advantage of his shock, she steered him towards the table. Maybe if she could get some roly-poly in him they’d avoid a meltdown. “Now sit here and let me finish reading a story to your cousin. Spaghetti for dinner soon, so you’d better eat your snack up fast!”

“Mama,” Harry said into her neck. Hushing him, Petunia pressed a kiss the top of his head, smiling at him when he lifted it to look at her, finding him watery eyed, but calming down.

“I’m your Aunt,” she told him, and took advantage of Dudley’s open-mouthed outrage to feed him a spoonful of pudding, preventing a shout, “Let’s all sit together and be civilised, shall we?”

She’d speak to Vernon about moving Harry’s crib into the second bedroom later; there was room for it in the corner if they shifted some of Dudley’s least precious toys – Harry would no doubt appreciate them anyway, given Diddykins had moved on to other interests. If she explained that he would be a dutiful playmate for their Dudders, who would benefit from someone his own age to chum about with, she had hope Vernon might come around. It wouldn’t do for there to be any talk in the neighbourhood if word got out about the cupboard, after all.

Decided, Petunia got the still shocked Dudley situated with his pudding, gave Harry a fresh bowlful and cup of milk, made her own tea and got herself a bowl also, and then sat at the table to eat with her boys.

Because that was all she wanted really, wasn’t it – to take care of her family, and to be civilised.

Glancing up at her as he happily finished his second helping, his little cheeks smeared with jam, Harry smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> _My iddy indulgent headcanon Happy Ever After for this fic is that Harry comes to be as precious to Petunia as Dudley and when he comes to display talent for magic, she's reached the point where she is able to support him - and comes to be fiercely on his side. Dudley's worst behaviour becomes frowned upon and he turns out much nicer for it, he and Harry becoming good playmates who share their toys and presents between them, albeit with the occasional childish tussle that never lasts for too long. Dudley ends up writing a letter to Dumbledore asking to be admitted to Hogwarts, much like Petunia did, but takes the kind let down with reasonable cheer, buoyed by taking up boxing shortly thereafter. Vernon finds he comes to enjoy taking both his boys for a day out, they all attend Dudley's boxing matches and, prompted by Harry, even end up helping Petunia out by pitching in occasionally in the kitchen. Harry works on encouraging his aunt, uncle and cousin to visit Hogwarts and watch him at a Quidditch match one day and, eventually, a bit nervous but also excited, they agree and are over the moon with excitement and pride when he catches the Snitch - something to tell (an edited version of to) the neighbours indeed._


End file.
